


Another shard of your heart

by BIFF1



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Greasers, F/M, M/M, Slow Burn, angsty fluff, awkward boys, biker!Kylo, college!Hux, everyones alive, greaser!Kylo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-17 19:01:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5881996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BIFF1/pseuds/BIFF1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux's car breaks down in the middle of the night.</p><p>Kylo has always been taught to rescue stranded strangers, especially handsome ones.</p><p>Hux and Kylo keep stumbling into each other not sure how to deal with the heavy warm feelings the other causes.</p><p>50's greaser/college AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bad luck

Hux had the worst luck in the world.

 

He was sure of it.

 

Sure that in some past life he must have done something incredibly bad because he could never catch a break. He worked desperately for everything and yet the entire world, the entire galaxy had moved in such a way as to completely fuck him.

 

He was stranded on the side of the road, his paper on the passenger seat- far, far away from his professor's office, where it needed to be before the end of the night. It was around midnight and the road was seldom used. He'd seen two cars go by, watched them honk and holler and speed right by.

 

The hood of the car was propped open. Something was wrong with it, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was. Wiggling wires and tubes around in a vain hope that something that had come loose would fix itself had only lead to smearing grease on his sweater vest.

 

He had resigned himself to lean against the car tiredly and have a cigarette.

 

He watched the curve of the road, waiting, hoping for some good Samaritan, maybe a nun or something. They had to stop, right?

 

A pair of headlights appeared and washed him in bright, white-yellow light. The car slowed for a moment, but kept going straight ahead.

 

Hux wished, not for the first time, that he had taken Phasma up on her offer to go with him. She may have been rather imposing of a girl, but she had legs that went on for miles. Surely someone would have stopped for her. He didn't exactly have anything that would lend to some middle of the night hitchhiker fantasy- a six one red-headed man in a sweater vest wasn't exactly at the top of anyone's list.

 

He sighs heavily, wondering if he could get an extension if he told his professor what happened.

 

A single headlight sweeps over him as he let's out a long cloud of smoke.

 

Single headlight. Motorcycle. Yeah, he's not even going to bother trying to wave that down. Some huge hulking mess of a man, looking at him like he was some breakable Poindexter that he could break for fun. With no one around to stop him.

 

No fucking thank you.

 

The motorcycle slows as it passes, and he sees a tall, thin man, all in black on a black bike. When the red tail light starts to throw its color across the scene it's like a shadow, a demonic thing.

 

He feels a strange pull in his chest and watches the man go, only to see him turn wide and low and come back.

 

The motorcycle comes to a stop a few feet in front of him. The crunch of gravel is loud when the man- tall, broad shouldered, strong looking in that strange, fluid kind of way- turns off the engine.

 

He stands with the bike between his legs, it's slender, it isn't a long distance kind of bike. It's something made for speed, for weaving through traffic.

 

Hux watches as the man pulls off the helmet, a mess of dark wavy hair tumbles out, he's young.

 

He's young and his skin is fair which make the dark eyes that are sweeping over him feel like black holes, sucking him in.

 

_Keep it together, Hux,_ he berates himself, the man swings a leg over the bike with his back to him. He's wearing a leather jacket with the words _Knights of Ren_  stitched into the back in red. The jacket tightens across his shoulders and makes the smoke stutter out of Hux's mouth as he tries to reign in these wholly inappropriate feelings.

 

"What's the problem?" the man asks, turning back to him. He's in the space between him and the bike and Hux refuses to look down and find out exactly how little room there is. It feels like some sort of strange test and, well, Hux was good at those.

 

"Car won't go," he tells the man, voice doing that sharp and lazy thing again, pulling at the words and sharpening the edges. It screams  _I think you are a waste of time_. It was the tone his voice took when he was nervous. He didn't do well in social situations- it was part of the reason that his only friend was Phasma. She liked her friends on the mean side, thank God.

 

The man throws a lazy smile at him at that, it's the kind of smile that is sharp teeth and barely hidden aggression. Hux finds he likes the smile, it makes his heart hammer in his chest.

 

"You try to fix it?" he asks, reaching between them and grabbing his sweater, running a finger across the smear of grease with leather clad fingers. Hux can feel the strange warmth from a leather knuckle against his skin from the loosened shirt.

 

"I didn't have much luck. Obviously," Hux grinds the words out, wondering if batting the man's hand away was some sort of admission of failure.

 

"Obviously."

 

The man lets go and moves to the front of the car. Hux watches him move, his feline, smooth movements, like a fighter. He takes a steadying breath and moves to follow him around the car.

 

The man is bent over the car, his gloved hands in the machinery and Hux hates ever part of him that finds himself drawn to the stripe of skin showing above the man's belt from his hitched up shirt and jacket.

 

"-cracked. There's nothing to do tonight."

 

Hux blinks hard as the man pushes himself up out of the car. Something is cracked?

 

"Are you a mechanic?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"Oh..."

 

"I can get someone to take it to the shop in the morning, but there's nothing I can do tonight."

 

A flash of anger flits across Hux, he tenses and wants to punch something, rip into something, anything, but everything around him would hurt. He can't imagine the man taking a punch just because Hux is frustrated. He crushes his still burning cigarette in his hand instead, feeling the quick sting of the burn before letting it crumble to the ground at his feet.

 

"Fuck," he whispers harshly, "Guess I should start walking." Maybe if he showed up at the beginning of office hours covered in dust and muck, he would still get credit for his work. 

 

He moves back around the car as the biker closes the hood. Hux leans in across the drivers seat and grabs his paper off the passenger seat. It's pretty and bound and worth more of his final grade than he cares to remember fight now.

 

"Where are you going?" the man asks behind him.

 

He's on the bike again, but he's holding the helmet out to him.

 

"The university..." He looks between the man and the helmet, unsure of exactly what's happening.

 

He wasn't being offered a ride, was he? He was sure there wasn't enough room on that bike for the both of them.

 

"Take it, let's go." There's a darkness to the man's tone that makes his body feel heavy in a surprisingly pleasant way.

 

"But my paper..."

 

The man forces the helmet into his hands and snatches the paper from him. Hux watches as the man unzips his jacket and slides his paper into it before zipping it up again.

 

"I've never..."

 

There's a flash of a bright smile across the man's face, "Put the helmet on, get on, hold on, and when I lean you lean with me. Easy. Even you should get that, Coppertop."

 

The warmth in his body from the man suddenly reaches a boiling point and with an angry glare he shoves the helmet on his head and gets on the bike behind him.

 

He holds the man's sides loosely.

 

"You're going to want to hold tighter than that," the man tells him in a half-laugh as he starts to speed towards the university.

 

The speed is frightening and he pulls himself closer to the man, his arms wrapped tight around the man's middle, his head heavy from the helmet, pressed as close to the man's back as he can manage, eyes squeezed tightly closed.

 

A turn that gets them dangerously close to the road makes his fingers scramble for purchase. His fingers end up under the man's jacket and shirt, short nails digging in the soft hot flesh of the man's sides. Fingers desperate against his hips, he'll probably bruise the man.

 

He isn't told to stop, or let go, or loosen up. So he doesn't.

 

The ride feels longer than it is but soon the man has stopped the bike and, taking Hux's hands in his own, carefully pried him away.

 

Hux scrambles off the bike, pulling the helmet off and holding it at an arm's length to the man. His face feels much too hot. He knows he must be blushing and he hates it. Hates his too pale skin and his stupid red hair that makes the blush stand out on him like theatre make up.

 

The man unzips his jacket and they exchange the paper for the helmet.

 

"Thank you," Hux manages to get out, looking everywhere but the man's face. He doesn't want to see the pitying look that must be there.

 

"Do you want me to wait? I can drive you home..."

 

His eyes flash up to the man's face, "No... No. I... I'll be okay."

 

The man shrugs but a faint smile is on his face from seeing the state of him. He feels like a mess and he hates that.

 

"Sure. I'll get someone to bring the car to the garage in the morning."

 

"Thank you... Which-"

 

"Solo."

 

Hux nods and the man, barely younger than him, all dark hair and dark eyes, smiles at him that aggressive sharp thing that makes Hux crave another cigarette, and- well, a lot of things, really.

 

"See you around, Coppertop."

The man pulls the helmet down and speeds off before Hux can form his distaste into words.

 

Hux has put the paper in the mail slot of his professor's office before he realizes he doesn't have the man's name. Just a 'Knight of Ren', whatever the hell that meant. Some motorcycle club, maybe?

 

He thinks on how appropriately titled he is, a Knight of Ren, his knight in dark armour. He almost forgives the slight at his hair.

  
  



	2. Coppertop

"Rough night, kid?"

 

Startled, Kylo looks up from his locker. He's half dressed, his overalls low on his waist, his T-shirt high on his chest, and he looks across the small back room at his father.

 

He's leaning casually against the door frame, his hair a deep grey and that stupid smug look on his face. He's looking at his hips.

 

Kylo quickly pushes his shirt down to hide the bruises on his hips. It wasn't fair. The redhead had made marks on his skin, deep, painful bruises where his fingers had desperately clung to keep him close and safe on the bike. They carried a dull pain that didn't feel earned.

 

He had spent a very uneasy night with dreams filled with red hair and icy green eyes and fingers that dug in.

 

He wanted to earn the bruises, wanted to pair them with moans and the breathless whispers of his name.

 

A name Coppertop didn't even know.

 

"I just gave someone a ride to the university last night. Car broke down."

 

His father leans back and looks in the garage.

 

"That the merc in bay two?"

 

He nods, doing up his overalls.

 

"The one with the name 'Coppertop' on the slip?"

 

"Yeah..."

 

His father is biting back a smile and he hates him more than a little bit right now. He ties his hair up and pushes past him.

 

If he hopes that sliding under a car and getting to work would keep his father and Uncle Chewie away from him, he is sorely mistaken.

 

Every fifteen minutes either his father or Chewy decide they need something, settling beside him and asking about Coppertop, the mysterious redhead that's somehow managed to get free service.

 

His father and Chewy have decided by lunch that Coppertop is a beautiful redhead that Kylo is keen on. They share a knowing smile when they notice the flush that causes in his cheeks.

 

"Hey," a voice calling out, a soft kick to his leg.

 

He sighs heavily, not wanting to go into this again with anyone. Every regular they have has been asking about Kylo's mystery redhead.

 

He doesn't roll out from under the truck he's servicing.

 

"Hey," they try again, the kick a little harder this time and, gritting his teeth, Kylo shoots his creeper out from under the truck.

 

"What the fuck do you-" he stops dead before he can finish.

 

It's Coppertop.

 

Standing in front of him in crisp clothes, his hair impossibly neat, the sweater he's wearing over the dark collared shirt looking soft. It's a deep red that reminds him all too pleasantly of blood. It's nothing compared to the color of his hair, though.

 

God, he was good to look at. Last night he had been for sure. It was part of why he had stopped to help, but that could have just been the moonlight.

 

He looked just as dangerously sharp and good-looking now as then.

 

He has a hard time swallowing.

 

"Coppertop? Really?" He asks, holding out the work slip for him to see.

 

Kylo looks around the garage and notices it's eerily empty. God, they must be hiding in the office, listening in.

 

The man shakes the paper in front of his face to drag his attention back: "They snickered and told me to talk to you. I don't particularly care for being a joke." The man's voice had a hard, cruel edge to it that made his heart stutter in his chest.

 

"And what the hell is this anyway? You think I can't pay? I don't need you doing me any more favours..." He falters and he's sure that he must want to put his name there. To bite at his name cruelly.

 

Kylo pushes himself off the creeper and stands to his full height in front of the redhead. He only has a few inches on him, but he uses every single one of them to tower over him.

 

Coppertop doesn't step back, just clenches his jaw and looks up at him, the hand with the work order in it still between them, keeping them apart from each other, knuckles resting against his chest.

 

Kylo is sure that there is more fire to this man than just his hair color. His body is all straight lines, strict, brutal, controlled, and he caught glimpses of him with all that control pulled from him and it had been beautiful.

 

"You can repay me another way if you are so keen on it," he tells him, a rough whisper of a thing.

 

He didn't need his father to hear. Or Chewie, or anyone else, really.

 

The man's icy green eyes flick down to his mouth and it pulls a smirk across his face. Good, he wasn't as straight as his posture. No one could be that straight, he was sure.

 

"Money is fine," he bites back and pushes the paper into his chest. He catches it easily as the man fishes his wallet out of his pocket.

 

"It isn't cheap. You sure you don't just want to repay me in a more interesting..." The words stall in his mouth, getting caught in his throat as he sees the wallet, full of large bills.

 

"How much?"

 

"Aren't you just a student?" Kylo asks, shocked, snatching the wallet from the man's pale fingers.

 

"Hey!"

 

Kylo steps back and looks at the wallet, searches out his ID.

 

"Brendol? You go by Bren or Doll? Or maybe Junior?" Kylo asks with a smile, noting the man's information.

 

Bren makes a soft growl of a noise in the back of his throat and snatches the wallet from his hand.

 

"Hux," he tells him roughly, the crisp control in his voice slipping. His voice sounds so good like that, rough, dancing between rage and something else. Something he's not sure of yet but would love to get more of.

 

Hux pulls way too much money out of his wallet and stuffs it into the chest pocket of Kylo's overalls.

 

"Where are my keys?"

 

"Office... I have to sign the paperwork..."

 

Hux produces a pen and turns his back on him. It takes him a moment to realise he's meant to use his back as a desk.

 

Kylo flattens the paper against the man's back, letting his hands trail past the paper to the sweater. It's as soft as he had thought, softer maybe. He traces sharp shoulder blades under his fingers before he signs the bottom of the paperwork,  _Ben Solo_

 

It wasn't what Kylo wanted to be called, but it was still his legal name.

 

Hux straightens, snatches the paper and the pen and, throwing a heated look over his shoulder, makes his way to the office.

 

Kylo can see the sudden movements of Han and Chewie quickly trying to pretend they hadnt been watching through the grimy window.

 

Kylo leans against the truck he was working on and watches Hux march out of the garage with his keys, and all he can think about is if he had just nicked something in the engine while he'd been working, the redhead might have a reason to come see him again.

 

"See you around, Coppertop!" he yells out and watches the redhead stiffen and stop before turning to glare at him.

 

"That's not- I- You are insufferable!" Hux growls, stalks over to his car, and disappears.

 

Kylo watches the dark hunk of metal speed away, probably never to be seen again. Sure, he knew that Brendol Hux Jr lived over in the college district, on Arkanis and Imperial. He knew that Hux was in pre-law according to his school ID and that his birthday was in May, but none of that really meant anything.

 

It wasn't as if he could actively pursue the man. As tempting as that was, it just... It would lead to trouble.

 

Again.

 

He didn't really have another relative to move in with if he had to leave another town because of his... preferences.

 

"I thought things would be different here, Ben," his father's voice is low, it's deep with concern that he wants no part of, but it pulls at something in his gut all the same.

 

He doesn't correct the name. No one here calls him Ben, it had been a part of the deal.

 

He knew that his father had made a deal with his mother about trying to get him back to college but, thankfully, no effort had really been made on that front.

 

Chewie is hanging back, pretending to find the work orders from yesterday incredibly interesting.

 

He'd feel exposed if he didn't know that Chewie knew everything already.

 

"It's not like I planned for this... For him."

 

"I know, kid, I'm just. I'm worried. You always fall so hard, and the last time..."

 

"I'm stronger now, that won't happen again."

 

"You were in the hospital for weeks, Ben. Just be careful. I remember what it was like, with your Uncle Luke I thought... But it was just friendship and we still had to-"

 

"Don't. Dad, just don't. I'll probably never see him again anyway, so what does it matter?" Kylo collapses back down onto his creeper and slides back under the truck.

 

He hoped the tonne of metal would protect him from a lecture or, even worse, a heart-to-heart.

 

He really, _really_ does not want to hear his father tell him about him and Uncle Luke again. About how they had just confused their strong feelings of friendship for something else. How they still had a hard time for it. He didn't need to hear about that again, or the war, or about how Uncle Luke had really lost that hand.

 

He wanted to tell his father the world was different now- it was the fifties, not the stone ages, the war had changed things, but... When it really came down to it, he knew that wasn't the case.

 

He watches his father's shoes cross the garage and listens to the thick, poorly accented Italian as his father and Chewie talked about him.

 

Kylo tries to lose himself in his work, but he keeps imagining icy green eyes and copper-coloured hair.

 

He's doomed.


	3. 'The Mechanic'

"What's wrong?" Phasma sat down on the steps next to him, folding her long legs underneath her. He noticed the obscene amount of bare skin she had on display. Those shorts are too short, but he pities any man who would try to take advantage of Phasma.

 

The woman was tall, a couple of inches taller than him, which bothered him greatly- he was six foot, he was not supposed to be the shorter part of a duo. Her hair was that white blonde and cut short, since she worked in a munitions factory during the war with her mother and three sisters and hadn't bothered to grow her hair back out. Her body was heavy with muscle, but she moved like a dancer.

 

She had told him once that before the war, before she had known what that word even meant, she wanted to be a dancer.

 

It showed.

 

His father complained about girls like Phasma. Girls who wore their hair short and their pants tight and their shorts too high. _Girls who didn't know their place anymore,_ but he pushed his father's sharp voice out of his head.

 

"Nothing's wrong. Why would something be wrong?" he asks, leaning forward on his knees, letting the ash from his cigarette fall onto the white stone steps of the college library.

 

She plucks the smoke out of his fingers easily and he's forced to look her in the face. It's so much easier to lie when he's not looking at her.

 

"You have been smoking like a chimney ever since the night your car broke down. What's going on? You usually only smoke this much during midterms and finals."

 

She smiles softly at him and he takes the end of the smoke back from her and finishes it off.

 

He really has to focus on not lighting another one.

 

"What happened that night, Bren?" She asks, voice soft and kind. It's off-putting, different from her normally brash cadences. She must actually be worried- she barely ever calls him Bren. That's what his mother called him.

 

"There was just some guy, Phas... He's a prick."

He doesn't mean to growl, but the image of his smug face flashes across his mind and he crushes the still burning cigarette in his hand. He yelps a little and, dropping the crushed tobacco and paper, puts his hand to his mouth. He needs to stop doing that.

 

Phasma is looking at him strangely and it makes his blood run cold. It's like she understands something that he doesn't.

 

"The biker you mentioned?"

 

'Mentioned' is putting it awfully lightly and he appreciates that. He had gone off about the biker mechanic that fucking propositioned him!

 

Him?!

 

He sits a little straighter, as if to remind himself of something, maybe that he's better than these... horrible, burning, infinitely inappropriate feelings rushing around in his chest.

 

He was a Hux. He was too damn good for that greaser scum.

 

"The mechanic?"

 

He tries to keep his face blank, but it's hard with Phasma. They've known each other for years now. He knows she's mentioning him again by the title he had given him only to watch his reaction.

 

Who else would they be talking about? He didn't know anyone else socially. If the way he knew that Knight of Ren could be counted as socially.

 

He didn't do well with people and he was sure it must have showed somehow. That something in him, his posture maybe? Had been too open, too inviting?

 

Why else would that man so brazenly proposition him? He wasn't... He didn't... He didn't like men.

 

He didn't.

 

He didn't like women either.

 

He didn't like anyone. He was going to marry Phasma, produce a couple kids to make his parents shut the fuck up, and they would live happily as friends.

 

"Phas?"

 

"Mmm?"

 

"Will you marry me?" He asks her and he doesn't mean for it to sound so sullen, he had hoped it would come out more jovially. Not that it would have mattered how he said it. Phasma knew him too well.

 

It was a problem.

 

He looks up at her and she's smiling softly, too gently.

 

"If I must," she tells him softly and she drops a heavy arm across his shoulders and pulls him ever so slightly against her side. Her body is firm and warm against him. Phasma was like a wall and he often found himself surrounded by it, separating him from the other students, those horrible, stupid, vapid slugs of people.

 

Hux lets her run careful fingers through his fine hair for a moment, relaxing into the familiar touch. He knew this was why people thought they were together. They sat too close, leaned on each other, whispered harsh words about the people around them and broke out into cruel laughter.

 

If Hux had to marry, and he knew for a fact that if he wanted to keep his last name he had to, he would marry Phasma.

 

She would protect his heart from tall men with pretty mouths that promised blissful violence, from men with dark eyes that pulled like a black hole, from men with hair like wavy black silk that begged to be pulled.

 

"Fuck," he whispered harshly and pulled another cigarette out of his almost empty pack, sparking it up before Phasma could say anything.

 

He didn't think Phasma could say anything that could stop him from smoking right now because he knew, he knew that that man he needed his heart protected from was The Mechanic.

 

He pulls away from her a little bit, sitting up to rub the heels of his palms into his eyes. Maybe if he presses a little harder he can rid himself of the images of that man.

 

All he did was cause sparkling brief stars to flit across his vision as he let out a stream of smoke.

 

He didn't like him. He didn't want him. He wanted nothing to do with the man with terrible handwriting whose name may or may not start with an R. He didn't want to feel his skin under his fingers again, he didn't want to press into-

 

No.

 

No.

 

Brendol Hux the second did not like that man.

 

Or any man.

 

These feelings were based off stress, maybe some strange hero worship gone wrong. The man had been his Knight, had saved his academic life. That's all it was, misplaced gratitude colouring his distaste for him.

 

He so rarely felt anything like that.

 

Yes.

 

He was sure that was all it was.

 

His car was fixed, he had no reason to ever see that greaser son of a bitch again. The feelings would fade into nothing and everything would be normal again.

 

Hux would empty of these too hot, too painful, strange feelings and be left with that cold calm he had grown up with. He would be left with just his admiration for Phasma.

 

"I feel like we need to get a very strong drink tonight. A lot of them, actually," Phasma breaks the comfortable silence.

 

"I have so much work to do Phas-"

 

"Work you aren't going to get done anyway. Don't make me go to the bar alone, Hux."

 

"Oh, that's not fair."

 

She's smiling brightly at him because she knows she's won. She learned a long time ago that Hux had been raised to always accompany a lady out on the town. It was proper and safe and, while he knew that Phasma was safer than most, powerful in personality and in body, he couldn't seem to ignore that voice in his head that sounded so much like his mother.

 

"Fine. Kavindish again?" It was the bar just off campus, it was close, easy, he knew the place.

 

"No. I'm thinking The Spot."

 

"That's a dancehall."

 

She smiles brightly again.

 

Hux allows a brief moment of a sag in his impeccable posture, "If you wanted to go out dancing you could have just said."

 

"I want to go dancing, Hux. Taking me dancing, darling."

 

He takes a drag of the cigarette and blows soothing circles out into the warm air.

 

"Fine. When?"

 

"Ten, that should give you enough time to stare at your textbooks before we go have some fun."

 

He wasn't sure if he'd call it 'fun'. He hated dancing. It wasn't that he didnt know how to dance- he did. He had displayed as much to Phasma on several occasions, he was born a gentleman and had accompanied a fine, upstanding, and horribly dull girl to cotillion. He danced, as Phasma told him, like he was some stuffy lord. Like they would enjoy a good fox hunt later. It was the type of dancing that happened at those dancehalls he didn't care for. They were all drunken, wild movements.

 

No control.

 

If there was one thing in the world that Hux did love, it was control.

 

\--

 

Phasma was right- he had spent hours just staring at his textbooks, going over and over his notes, strict lines of ink that formed letters he couldn't force into words or sentences that made any sense.

 

He hated when she was so right.

 

Drinking and dancing on a Tuesday. He felt like such a delinquent, but he pushed himself away from his books, took a shower and changed.

 

His apartment was small, but better than a room at some boarding house or a dorm shared with someone who was destined to either be a complete slob or some hedonistic asshole.

 

No thank you. He'd rather keep his spartan one-bedroom just on the edges of the college district.

 

He jumped into his car and sped down the street towards Phasma's all girl boarding house.

 

She was waiting outside, dressed in monochrome, in a shirt that flared out when she walked. He'd only ever seen her in skirts when she forced him into going dancing. Something about the spin of the fabric or the ease of movement. The one time he had asked she devolved into dance jargon. He didn't ask again.

 

She slips into the passenger seat with a smile and waves goodbye to some of the girls that are lounging on the porch.

 

"They are horribly jealous, you know," she tells him, leaning back in the seat, twisting to look at him.

 

"Because you're going dancing?"

 

"Because you're taking me dancing."

 

He turns to look at her at a stop light, "You can't be serious. Why would they be jealous?"

 

"They like you."

 

"No one likes me, Phasma."

 

"They think you're handsome."

 

He can't help but roll his eyes at that- no one has ever accused him of being handsome before. Always too pale, too freckled, too intense.

 

"No, they do. They think you look exotic."

 

She fans herself dramatically and Hux turns the car away from the collegiate tree lined streets towards the ravine and the long winding road that will snake them around the city and get them close to The Spot painlessly.

 

They are half way there when the car makes a noise, a decidedly not normal noise, sputters, the lights flicker out and then it just gives up.

 

He pulls the almost lifeless car to the shoulder and slams his hands against the steering wheel. What about this street hated him so much? What about this car?

 

His terrible luck was shining through. He'd have to go back to Solo's, back to-

 

"I thought 'The Mechanic' fixed your car."

 

"Apparently I had more faith in his abilities then I should have," he grinds out the words and grabs for the pack of cigarettes on the dash. Lighting up the last one, he gets out of the car, not even sure if he should bother with looking under the hood. He was lost, and Phasma wouldn't fare much better. She had changed her major so many times he wasn't even sure what she was taking anymore.

 

He grinds his teeth, chewing unhappily on the paper and tobacco. It's a long walk back towards the centre, even if they cut across farmland that edged the college town. He wasn't looking forward to trying to locate thistles in his socks.

 

Hux turned to tell Phasma of their horrible luck, just to find her walking back up the road the way they came.

 

"Where are you going?" He hollered after her, jogging a little to catch up.

 

"We passed a bar a little ways back. We should be able to call a tow truck from there. Maybe get a drink."

 

He really could use one at this point and the night was comfortably warm. He falls into step beside her and lets the conversation turn patchy, long bouts of silence broken up by talks of school and some of her other friends. She is dancing around 'The Mechanic' and how stricken he has been since meeting him.

 

The admiration he feels for her bursts brightly into love. He could definitely live the rest of his life with Phasma, fill a home with this comfortable feeling.

 

He indulges for a brief moment on how viking-like their children would be. When they get to the bar, he stops dead.

 

"What is it?" She asks, a couple steps ahead of him.

 

Hux points at one of the motorcycles parked in front of the shack of a bar, "I know that bike."

He almost died on that bike, he remembers every shining black curve and thin red detail.

 

"It's a common bike, Hux, it's probably not him. I mean, I've seen that bike a couple times around campus, too."

 

"Really?"

 

"Would I lie to you?" She grabs his wrist and pulls him into the bar.

 

His eyes sweep the bar nervously- it's small, a dance floor that no one is using surrounded by a ring of tables and, in the far corner, settled into the very corner of a corner booth like some big shot is 'The Mechanic'. He is sandwiched in by several men, roughly their age, all greasers like him. They smile too wide and it reminds him of dangerous reptiles.

 

"I rescind my proposal," he grumbles as the man looks up and their eyes lock.

 

Hux schools his features instantly, his posture ramrod straight, lets a long stream of smoke out and looks away from him. The Mechanic, with his dark, black hole eyes had shown surprise at seeing him, the faintest of flushes across his cheeks.

 

"What? Why?" Phasma looks around the definitely not crowded enough bar, she's too tall to be obstructed by anything either. Her eyes settle on the corner easily, "Oh... 'The Mechanic'."

 

He whips his head around to glare at her. How could she? How dare she? 'The Mechanic', saying it like he's talked about him a million times.

 

"I hate you so very much right now."

 

"I'll buy you a drink?" She offers and he narrows his eyes at her. She raises her hands in defeat, she knows by now that he always pays for her drinks, something in him just not quite able to accept her offers. He doesn't say anything about the money he finds in his jacket pockets the day after, though.

 

"I'll go get us some drinks. Find a seat we'll have a drink and then try and sort out my car. Okay?"

 

"Okay, anything you want, Coppertop."

 

The smile that slides across her face is insufferable, and her voice had been far too loud. He throws a glare over his shoulder at the tall man that had given him that name, because if he thought Hux hadn't heard that snort of laughter, he was sorely mistaken.

 

Hux had never been in a physical altercation before, he never needed to be. He had destroyed many a person with a well timed glare and cruel words. It's never worked on Phasma and it doesn't seem to work on The Mechanic either. He schools his features once again, hating himself for allowing his mask of bored detachment to slip in the first place.

 

Walking over to the bar, he steadies his breathing, concentrating on making them slow, calm, and deep. Hot, pulsing jazz music erupts behind him as he hands over some bills to the old bartender in exchange for two glasses of whiskey.

 

When he turns around, he sees exactly what he expects to. Phasma, in all her tall, pale glory, is swaying happily in the center of what was clearly supposed to be the dance floor, her body moving easily to the pulsating music. He looks past her at the ever-occupied table and takes in ever man that had decided to look at his friend, sizing them up easily. The older men at the left by the bathroom wouldn't be a problem, he could tell by the way the one with the mean look shifted in his seat, there was something wrong with his leg, something easy to exploit. Several of the other men littered around the edges of the room were already with women, small but formidible looking girls in leather jackets that wore tight pants and shirts that fell off the shoulder.

 

The only possible real threat was The Mechanic's table. One of the men turned away from him and he could see 'Knights of Ren' written in red on his jacket. The men that sat there drinking had no problem with the icy looks he was sending out. His gaze slides across the table to lock with the mechanic's again, and he narrows his eyes.

 

Why does this asshole keep staring at him?

 

What was his problem?

 

He could at least see that he was with someone this time, a woman. Wasn't it obvious that he wasn't interested? Something in Hux wouldn't look away from those dark eyes, though, maybe something about establishing dominance, like the man was some dog he was trying to train and not a person he desperately wanted to never see again.

 

The man looks down at his drink, and Hux can breathe again.

 

"Phas?" He holds up the glass of amber liquid and she comes dancing over to sit down at the table behind Hux. 

 

The table has a view of the Knights of Ren and he isn't sure how he feels about that. It was definitely better to know where your opponent was. His father- the commandant- had taught him that.

 

_

 

Hux has lost count of how many drinks he's had. Phasma keeps waving at the bartender every time he's almost done, and another glass full of terrifyingly mediocore whiskey appears before him. They haven't dealt with the car at all. It's still sitting abandoned at the side of the road, and the more of the amber liquid he pours down his throat, the more vocal he is about how fucking absurd that was.

 

"That fucking mechanic, Phas, if he had done his job we would be out dancing right now instead of- hey, where are you going?" He looks up at Phasma through his swimming vision and watches her strut across the bar.

 

He watches, horrified, as she slams her hands down on the table filled with bikers.

 

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit," he whispers harshly to himself.

 

What the hell is she doing?!

 

"You," she points a finger at the mechanic, stabs at the air in front of him, "What is your name."

 

Hux tries very, very hard not to throw something across the room, his grip getting tight on his glass, and he desperately craves something to burn or crush.

 

"Why?" The man asks, and he tries to count how many drinks Phasma's had. Shit, he can't remember.

 

"Because I am tired of calling you 'The Mechanic'."

 

"Why have you been calling me anything?"

He can't see her face but he can see the man's as his eyes shift past his friend to stare at him for a brief, intense moment before looking back, "It's Kylo."

 

"Kyle?"

 

"No. Ky-low." 

 

Hux can feel something pull in his chest at the depth of his tone. Something dark and forbidden, and all the better for it. Hux turns away from the scene quickly and waves at the bartender, tossing his head back and finishing the last drops of whiskey left in his tumbler.

 

"I'm Phasma, that's-"

 

"Coppertop," Kylo finishes for her and he wants her to defend him, say something, anything, but there is no sound at all for a moment. He will not turn around to find out what they are doing, what kind of look they are exchanging, because he does not want to condone it. That's what he would have to do, there was no way he could take any of those men in a fight even with Phasma as backup.

 

"All right, which one of you knights is going to ask a lady to dance?"

 

"Phas!" He twists quickly in his seat to watch one of the knights, tanned with slicked-back mouse brown hair, slides out of the booth and holds out his arm for Phasma. It's a pitiable displace of decorum that turns his stomach but Phasma is smiling brightly, and he found out years ago that he will suffer almost anything if it makes his friend smile like that.

 

There's a dull slap of a noise and he turns away from where Phasma and the unnamed Knight of Ren have started dancing, to stare at half a bottle of whiskey.

 

"We both know you're going to drink the rest of the bottle. Less running around this way," the bartender tells him in a low, smokey voice, and Hux really can't think of a downside to this new development. He pays the bartender and fills his glass half way full, sliding around the table to watch Phasma and the almost laughably short Knight dance.

 

The burn of whiskey down his throat, the blast of pulsing jazz, the heavy smoke filling the air all make his skin buzz, but it's nothing in comparison to the burn of feeling that flushes through him when his eyes slide away from the dancing to land on The Mechanic.

 

No.

 

Not The Mechanic.

 

Kylo.

 

_God_ , he bit the inside of his mouth and looked down into his drink, he must have had too many glasses, because that ridiculous name sounded damn amazing in his head. He should absolutely stop drinking. He should stop and call for a tow truck, go get Phasma and get the hell out of here. He should walk out that door and never look upon Kylo's pleasant visage again.

 

Or he could refill his glass.

  
  



	4. Pretty eyes

Kylo had spent a fair amount of his time since he got to town building up armour, armour of pitch that smelt of gasoline and grease. Pulled men, friends, around him that didn't care one fig that his eyes seemed to linger on men far more often than on the hem of a skirt. He had earned the seat at the head of any table the Knights of Ren sat at through violence and clever mind tricks.

 

He could feel that armour crumble every time his eyes locked with Coppertop. Those icy eyes just cut right through him.

 

Most of the other Knights were fascinated by Hux's friend.

 

He was sure that they were just friends, no way would a girlfriend march over here and demand to know the name of the man her sweetheart kept talking about.

 

No, she had looked at him with a strange, drunken calm, like she thought she was doing the best thing for everyone.

 

She hadn't even gone back to him with his name, why bother when they all knew he had heard? She was dancing with Boomer, who was considerably shorter than her. Everyone seemed to be. It had been amusing to watch her flip and turn him, see him lose himself in peals of laughter as she flipped him over her shoulder while they danced.

 

Boomer would never live that down although the look on his face, a smile that split his face in half, it didn't seem like he really minded all that much.

 

He couldn't seem to lose himself for very long, every twist, every turn they made that brought Brendol Hux the second back into his vision drowned out every thing else in the small bar.

 

God, it was killing him.

 

His copper-red hair shimmered in the low, grungy light, his pale skin getting slowly redder from the whiskey bottle he was draining on his own. His hair was impeccable, he sat there in the corner of this dive bar looking like he owned the entire world, like worlds would crumble under his gaze.

 

Kylo watched his posture slowly loosen, the stiff collar of his shirt peeking out of the soft looking sweater, it's popped state framing his face.

 

He looked too good for this, all the way down to his saddle shoes. He looked like he should be in the library fretting over statistics, not in this bar making Kylo's insides heat and churn with just intense eye contact.

 

"Who is this ginger anyway?" The man beside him, Franky, asks leaning forward on the table that is now mostly emptied out in favour of the dancefloor.

 

"His name is Hux."  
He hopes he doesn't say it as sweetly as the name feels on his tongue.

 

"Mmm," Franky hums in a strange tone as he leans back, "You should be careful. He looks dangerous."

 

"Dangerous? What are you talking about?" He was fairly certain that none of the Knights knew for sure that he didn't particularly care for skirts. Hints, sure, but for sure? No. He had been careful. He hadn't wanted to pursue anyone since he'd arrived in town. He had changed his name and the incident in Dacar hadn't hit the news according to his mother. There was no way that Franky could be talking so blatantly about what he thought he was talking about.

 

"Boys like that, they are storms in human forms. They rip up your life with no remorse. It's just the nature of some men, Kylo."

 

"Hux isn't a storm, he's a square. Storms are out of control and I've never seen anyone in more control than-"

 

"You son of a bitch!" Hux's voice breaks him out of his thoughts. He looks up and Hux is swaying in front of the table. He has a hand on the top of it as if to steady himself. He isn't doing a very good job.

"You. Son of a bitch. Did you break my car on purpose? Do a shitty patch job to get more money out of me? Get something-" Hux flushes all the way down to his collar. It's fascinating, Kylo wonders against his will how far down the flush even goes.

"Get something else from me?"

 

"What are you talking about?"

 

"My car, you greaser piece of- my car!"

 

The music still plays on, a rumble of hot jazz, but beyond that the room is in silence. Phasma has stopped dancing and is making her way across the floor towards them, her face is frightening, a mask of controlled potential violence.

 

"What's wrong with your car?"

 

"Car. Won't. Go," he hisses out, "I didn't pay for it to be fixed for a week."

 

"I didn't want you to pay for it at all. You're the one that shoved money in my pocket like some whore," Kylo hisses back.

 

He's not sure if he's trying to be quiet on purpose or if that's just how his anger is coming out. He has his hands clenched into fists on the table, knuckles white.

 

"Stop!" Hux yells at him, and there is none of that control he had the other night or at the garage in him anymore. It must be the whiskey.

"Stop!" Hux yells again, but he doesn't even move.

 

"I didn't do anything!"

 

"Stop being so fucking handsome," Hux growls out. "I don't- I'm not- I'm not interested."

His voice is lower but everyone can hear him, "I don't care how good looking you are I don't go in for that! Do you understand?"

 

There's silence and it takes him a second to realise he's supposed to answer.

 

"I understand. I didn't mean to-" he tries, but the words are lost to the painful look in Hux's eyes.

 

"Good. Because I don't like anyone. Some day I'll get married to Carol and you can't hurt me with those, those damn pretty eyes of yours."

 

"Carol?"

 

The blonde raises a hand cautiously behind Hux. She's looking at her friend, and apparently future husband, with the saddest look in her eyes.

 

"I should take him home," Carol steps up beside Hux and he turns instinctively into her. Kylo watches with a flash of guilt and jealousy as she runs her fingers carefully through that red hair.

 

"You don't have a car, right?"

 

"Oh, yeah... I can call a taxi."

She looks around for a payphone but Kylo shakes his head.

 

"They won't come here. I'll take him. Franky," he holds out his hand in front of his friend and waits for the heavy, cold feeling of the keys to the ragtop to fall into his hand.

 

"I don't know if that's a good idea."

Carol pulls Hux closer to her and it's terribly sweet. He can see that Hux doesn't look at her like he looks at Kylo, but there is something unbreakable between them that makes him a little jealous. He can't remember anyone caring about him like that before.

 

"I'll behave."

 

She gives him a stern look for a moment, something that presses deep into him, before muttering more to herself then to anyone else, "I'm not worried about you." She bends down a little and pulls the thoroughly drunk Hux away from her, "Kylo is going to drive you home, okay?"

 

He shakes his head no, "I'm not going to leave you here. Come with us, Phas."

 

Phasma looks up at him and he cringes a little.

 

"It's a two seater."

 

Normally, they could pile several people into the hot rod, but all three of them were a little too tall to try that. Especially with Hux in that strange state of drunkenness that suggested squirming around.

 

Hux suddenly regained his composure, his posture returning to that demanding and authoritative position, "I'm not leaving you in some dive bar, Phasma, with no way to get home except by the good graces of one of these... 'Knights'." The title sounds like poison in his mouth.

 

Kylo steps forward and presses a hand to the small of Hux's back, he feels like he's on fire and he tries not to think about how great his skin must feel. He bites the inside of his cheeks and leans to look for Carol, or Phasma, or whatever her name was.

 

Boomer is standing off to the side nervously.

 

"Boomer. Take the lady home when she wants to leave."

 

He nods frantically, it's a little sweet, really, "There. Boomer will take Carol home."

 

"Are you sure?" Hux asks the blonde, his voice so stern and serious it's hard to remember that only a minute or so ago he had been drunkenly yelling at him about having pretty eyes.

 

"I'm sure. Go with Kylo. He'll get you home safely and if I find out anything happened..." she trails off, throwing a heated glare over Hux's shoulder at him.

 

Kylo decides that he likes her. She's forward and brash and unafraid, he wonders as he leads the redhead out of the bar if she can ride a bike.

 

The night air is too warm, he had hoped that the cold of the night would help bring a little more sense back into the man whose arm is slung over his shoulders.

 

What he gets instead is a stream of semi-coherent babble, ending with a declaration as he leans Hux against the hot rod in order to unlock the door.

 

"You're not the only handsome one, you know."

Hux is looking at him with foggy green eyes, the ice in them melted away by whiskey, "I have it on good opinion that I'm rather handsome myself." He nods as he says this like it's some sage wisdom, but when Kylo gets the door unlocked and turns to Hux, he looks like he's waiting for an insult.

 

"I know. I have eyes," he tells him softly, shuffling the man into the passenger seat.

 

"It's the hair, you know," Hux tells him after he drops into the drivers seat and brings the car to life.

 

"What is?"

 

"Why I'm handsome."

 

"No, it's not," Kylo tells him firmly, trying to turn his attention to the task at hand. Hux drank an entire bottle of whiskey by himself and yelled at him about how he wasn't interested. Why, then, did Hux keep looking at him like he was, and why did Kylo want him to?

 

He had enough problems in his life, he didn't need to add Mr. Mixed Signals to the pile.

 

"What? You don't like my hair?" Hux runs a hand through the silky looking strands, picking pieces up to look at them.

 

"I love your hair," Kylo confides, sure that Hux isn't going to remember a thing past his third glass tonight, "But it's not the only reason you're handsome."

 

Hux doesn't respond. He settles back into the soft leather of the car and looks out at the scenery whipping by, a soft smile on his face.

 

God damn it, it was a good smile.

 

Hux was too out of it to ask how Kylo knew where his apartment was, thank God. The redhead was a drunken mess, but he didn't want to lie to him about it. He wasn't sure he would be able to lie to Hux. There was something so pulling in his eyes- he was sure he would be able to drag the pathetic truth out of him.

 

Kylo parks the car in front of a surprisingly expensive-looking apartment building and looks across the car at a half asleep Hux.

 

He was rich, right? He had to be. Like, dynasty rich, because he was just some law student barely older than him. He stares up at the building for a moment and prays to whatever or whoever will listen that Hux doesn't live with his parents or something equally horrible.

 

He can't stay in the car all night. He pushes himself out and rounds it to try and manhandle the half asleep Hux out onto the sidewalk.

 

"Don't touch me," Hux growls, pushing at Kylo's hands.

 

"Fine, fine."

 

He pulls away to watch Hux sway dangerously.

 

He watches for a minute to ensure that the swaying isn't going to actually end with the man on the ground and turns to lock the car.

 

Hux is laying on the ground when he turns back around.

 

"What are you doing down there?"

 

"Why weren't you holding me?" He accuses from the ground as Kylo doubles over to pull him up.

"Why weren't you touching me?" He whispers, voice dangerously low and stirring something up in Kylo, "I thought you wanted to touch me."

 

God, he does, everything about Hux just screams at Kylo to touch him.

 

"You told me in no uncertain terms that you weren't interested, Bren."

 

Hux looks at him quickly at that, their faces close since Kylo is bent over, trying to pull the man up off the damp grass. Something in his eyes just breaks something in Kylo.

 

"Don't..."

The whiskey tainted breath is against his lips and it's awful and wonderful all at once.

 

"Don't what?" He asks softly because he can feel himself move in closer, eating up the space between them as he wets his lips.

 

"Don't call me that... it's too... intimate," he tells him, and his lips are so close he can feel the soft movements of Hux's mouth.

 

He watches as Hux closes his eyes desperately tight and hates every possible part of himself for noticing the flutter of red-gold lashes against flushed skin.

 

Hux takes a shaky breath and turns away from him. Rolling away completely, Kylo absently notices that Hux is going to get grass stains, he normally wouldn't have even noticed but he didn't know anyone outside his mother that would have cared.

 

Hux is going to care, but he won't take the arm that Kylo keeps offering as the redhead crawls across the grass, trying to get himself balanced enough to try and stand.

 

They miraculously make it up to Hux's apartment after some fumbling with keys and some quiet arguing.

 

"Do you have a roommate, or...?" He asks, sliding the key he'd taken form Hux's pocket into the lock.

 

"No," Hux tells him as plainly as he can with that slight slur to his words, "Why?"

 

Kylo shrugs instead of answering, pushing the door open. He expects the apartment to be small but lavish, insanely tidy- Squaresville, really.

 

He does not expect such... He's not sure what the word for it should even be. The apartment looks empty.

 

"How long have you lived here?" He asks, turning on the light and closing the door behind them.

 

There are no boxes, but it seems as if he must have just moved in. No one could live in a place for long and not have something of their personality rub off on it.

 

It's Spartan, 'minimalist' seems to be too kind.

 

Hux shrugs, "Couple years." He peels off his jacket and Kylo watches as he drunkenly tries to fold it. He gives up on the third try and lets it fall to the floor, crumpled.

 

Kylo follows him at a distance as he walks through the small space, around a table stacked high with textbooks and notepads, past the open window and a full ashtray. Hux flips on the radio as he goes, some slow, haunting instrumental drifting through the apartment. His eyes keep darting from Hux's dangerously languid form to the bed in the corner of the room. It has starchy looking wool blankets and hospital corners. It looks more like an oversized military bunk than the bed of a rich pre-law square.

 

Kylo follows Hux into the kitchen and watches him struggle with a cabinet. With a sigh, he opens the cabinet and grabs a glass. Filling it with tap water, he hands it back to Hux.

 

"You're still here..." There's a strange tone in the redhead's voice, it pulls at him the same as everything else the man does. Everything about the man is a magnet, or poison. Considering just how dark and cold his eyes could flash, he's leaning towards poison.

 

"Wanted to make sure you were safe."

 

"From what?" Hux downs the entire glass of water before looking at him again, "I'd be safer if you left."

 

Safer from what, he doesn't need to ask.

 

Safer from him, he feels the same, they would both be safer if he just left, if he took the hot rod back to Snoke's and fixed that stupid Mercedes for good and never saw him again.

 

There's a painful gnawing in his gut when he thinks about that, though. Not seeing Hux again feels like it will be just as painful. He had never been good at choosing the safe option anyway.

 

"Why did you drink so much?" He asks, and it seems to knock Hux out of his drunken daydream. He pushes away from the kitchen counter, stumbling in a graceful, almost fluid way towards the bed.

 

"What?" Hux asks as if he had forgotten the question on his journey across the room. He's bent over, turning down the bed, pulling tight pristine white sheets down. Hux grabs a pillow and turns to face him, "What?"

 

"Why did you drink so much? It's not like you."

 

"How do you know what's like me?" Hux tells him, and Kylo wishes there was some heat behind it, something to flare up and defend against, but there isn't. Hux looks at him coldly and sits down on the floor next to the bed.

"Maybe I always drink to excess. You don't know me. Don't pretend that you do." With the pillow down on the floor, Hux laid down to rest on his side, arms wrapped around the soft-looking cotton, still mostly dressed.

 

"I want to," Kylo can't seem to stop himself from whispering in response. The radio is on but it's quiet enough to still hear the terrible longing quality to his words.

 

"Want to what?" Hux looks confused, his eyes foggy again, "The bathroom's over there if you need it." Hux points lazily towards a door and shifts around for a moment, like he's trying to find a comfortable spot on the hard floor. The radio behind him switched from soft, sultry jazz into that sweeping classical orchestral nonsense his mother was so fond of.

 

Normally classical music did nothing for him, but watching the moonlight slip through the window and slide across the apartment and bathe Hux in its pale glow made his entire body just fucking ache.

 

"You are fucking impossible," he tells Hux, but all the man does is shuffle absently on the floor and slip into the heavy sleep of the drunk.

 

He can't stay here. He can't stay in this place alone with Brendol Hux and not do anything. He wants it too much, and he can't have any of it. Hux has spurned all his advances, even if he's a little slow to do so sometimes. He was a lot of things, but he liked to think even he was above forcing himself upon a drunk man.

 

"I'm going to go..."

 

Hux pushes himself off the floor. Honestly, he thought he would be asleep by now, he had looked so peaceful, but Hux is still sitting there, staring at him with eyes he's not even sure can see him at this point. Hux runs a hand though his hair, rubbing the back of it against his forhead, leaving the red strands sticking up at all angles.

 

It looks amazing.

 

Fuck.

 

"My car? Should I just stop by the gara-" Hux's entire body lurches forward and Kylo watches with wide eyes as the beautiful man vomits what looks like a complete quart of whiskey onto the floor beside him. Oh God, there is splash back.

 

Hux is doubled over, looking down at the disgusting puddle and breathing heavily. Kylo knows he can't leave now, not when Hux lives alone. He'd never forgive himself if Hux choked on his own vomit, and he's pretty sure Phasma would go a little further than that. They might not find his body.

 

He was pretty sure he could take Phasma if it really came down to it. He wasn't so sure he could take Phasma and all the Knights of Ren that had no doubt fallen in love with her tonight. He fumbles around in the dim of the apartment, the single orange light by the door doing nothing to help illuminate the mess. He cleans up the mess on the floor and then the mess of a man.

 

He has Hux leaning back against the bed as he pulls the soft sweater over his head and folds the sweater carefully under Hux's insane and watchful eye before starting on the buttons of the man's shirt. It's horrifyingly intimate, but every time he chances a glance at Hux the man is half asleep, those pretty eyelashes clumped together from the tears brought on by the whiskey's emergency exit.

 

By the time Hux is sorted- on his side, shirtless, wrapped in a blanket- the three o'clock news is going on about the economy. Kylo makes to leave but is pulled easily back to the floor. One of Hux's hands has grabbed a hold of his shirt and keeps pulling him sleepily closer to him.

 

"Hux?" Kylo wraps his hand around Hux's own incredibly warm one to wrench it off his shirt. When Hux doesn't respond at all, he sighs, "Bren?"

 

Hux murmurs something unintelligible, his breath hot against his side and his hand letting go of his shirt to wrap around his waist instead.  It feels good. The night stand digging into his back? Less so.

  
  



	5. Polyglot

The throbbing in the back of his head and behind his eyes he's sure is never going to stop. Hux will have to learn how to live with this dull heavy pain for the rest of his life.  
  
It shouldn't be a problem, he can imagine he'll live much longer.  
  
Hux is fairly certain if he opens his mouth ever again all that will come out is bile. Literal bile. He knows he should drink some water but the very idea seems to just invite trouble. He knows it will make him feel better but the very idea of opening his mouth, of letting the cool morning air into him like that would just create a mess on the floor.  
  
Again.  
  
Hux rubs his palms into his eyes and looks out across the dark floor worried about seeing what mess he's made.  
  
It's clean.  
  
Clean?  
  
He had thrown up. He was sure of it. He had been sitting right here on the floor.  
  
He wasn't on the floor.  
  
Hux pushes himself up in the bed and looks around nervous, frightened for a moment unable to pull the pieces of the night together in a cohesive plot. Everything is jarringly out of order or missing important scenes. How did he get home? What had he said to Kylo that had made him look at him like that? Why wasn't there vomit on the floor? Why wasn't he wearing his sweater?  
  
What had he done?  
  
Hux prided himself on his steal trap of a mind, so how, why had he let himself drown himself in that amber liquid? Had he hoped that when he woke up in the morning he wouldn't remember anything about Kylo? That maybe all that whiskey would erase the uneasy warmth the man brought about in him.  
  
Hux falls back into the bed and stares up at the ceiling, it's off white and patterned, like some ancient room, like a palace, or his room in his parents manor. It's normally calming to trace along the patterns, the long crisp lines clearing his mind like a meditation. It doesn't work in the slightest this morning. Every line reminds him somehow of Kylo.  
  
Kylo.  
  
Kylo. God what a ridiculous name. Not that he could really say anything maybe Kylo was just a family name like Brendol. They were similarly cursed and it made him like him a little.  
  
He didn't want to like Kylo. He didn't want to like anyone. He had plans, plans that didn't have space for men or woman with entire dark universes swirling in their eyes, or hair that looked like it had been made to tangle his fingers into, or mouths that looked stunningly cruel.  
  
No.  
  
There was no place in Brendol Hux the Second's life plan for those kinds of feelings. It just wasn't in a Hux's nature to even address those kinds of things, that want. No Hux's had wonderful careers, pushed forward advances in law and military and mathematics and married strong, pretty women and made new Hux's to go on and lead impressive careers all their own.  
  
It was in part why Carol fit so wonderfully into his plan. She was beautiful and strong willed and he actually enjoyed her company.  
  
Kylo...  
  
Kylo could give him nothing he needed. The feelings he stirred up were all consuming things, they gave him nothing but an ache in his chest. They took and took and took they had nothing to give.  
  
There was nothing to gain.  
  
Hux rolls onto his side lamenting his life, these thoughts felt way too serious for his hungover brain to manage.  
  
Hux decides, his face smothered in his warm clean sheets, mouth still unopened, body heavy and warm, that he would never see Kylo again.  
  
He would send Phasma for his car, she owed him after the debacle of last night.  
  
With his future decided and Kylo free Hux let's sleep pull him back under in favour of the idea of sleeping some of this hangover off rather than sit through an ethics lecture.  
  
He doesn't know how many hours later it is when he wakes up again, but its still light out. He had been dreaming about dark wavy hair, and black hole eyes deep pulling pools that threatened to consume him, dark eyelashes on pale skin and soft looking lips.  
  
They had been wonderful dreams but he's more than glad to have them fade away as he takes the apartment in again.  
  
Something is different. The apartment smells of coffee. He pushes his face away from the soft pillow and finds Phasma sitting on a chair she's pulled up to the bed.  
  
"What are you doing here?" He asks voice rough from whiskey and disuse.  
  
"Mitaka told me you weren't in any classes today. I wanted to make sure you hadn't met an untimely end."  
  
Hux sits up in the bed and looks around. There is a spoon on the nightstand next to two mugs of coffee. He's pretty sure she had been checking to see if he had been breathing.  
  
She looks shiny and clean in her monochrome and silver, short hair looks soft and clean, her face is a little more matte than usual. More makeup then she would normally wear...  
  
Hux leans forward and snatches one of her hands out of her lap where she had been holding them from him.  
  
"Looks like I'm not the only one that had an interesting night. What happened. Who was it?" He is trying to pull apart the men that had been dancing with Phasma but they all kind of melt into a confusing combination of them all, "I'll kill them."  
  
There is steel in Hux's rough voice as he runs his thumb over the bruised and ripped knuckles of his best friend.  
  
"Did one of Kylo's friends try and take liberties with you after I left?" His voice is low and he's thinking of ways to destroy those men, boys, assholes.  
  
He looks up from her knuckles and he wants to smear her makeup to see how bad it is but she is smiling softly at him.  
  
"It wasn't any of the Knights of Ren."  
  
"What happened then?"  
  
She shakes her head, "Later. Tell me what happened with Kylo?" There's a hard tone in her voice, something to reinforce that she won't talk about anything else right now.  
  
He drops her hand and pulls the sheets around him, "I don't remember much."  
  
"Did he try something with you?"  
  
Hux thinks back to his cobbled together memories and can only find one instance when Kylo had tried anything.  
  
"He tried to kiss me I think."  
  
"He what!" Phasma leans forward removing so much of the space between them that he had been taking comfort in.  
  
"I... I fell over and he pulled me up and our faces were close..." He holds up his hands to show how close they had been and he can feel his body warm up because he had wanted to be closer.  
  
Impossibly closer.  
  
He closes his eyes tightly for a moment and flops down on the bed again in a very undignified and undisciplined manner. He doesn't feel very dignified or disciplined at the moment.  
  
He had spent his fuzzy morning convincing himself that he was done with these feelings. Done with Kylo.  
  
Forever.  
  
"What are you going to do about this?" She asks the concern is dripping off her words.  
  
"Buy another pack of smokes and never see him again."  
  
"What about your car?"  
  
He pushes himself up and gets as far as putting his feet down on the chilly floor, "I don't suppose you'll pick it up for me? I'll give you the money for it."  
  
Something seems to crumple in her expression, "I can't Bren... I agreed to take Susan's shift at the diner this afternoon. I have to go straight there from here... I can see if I can go during my break."  
  
"No. " he shakes his head and regrets it as it brings back a wave of dizzying sickness for a moment, "No. I'm an adult I can do it."  
  
"We can go together tomorrow if you can wait?"  
  
He mulls it over. He would much rather go with Phasma or have her go alone for him but that seems too much like cowardice. Like he was afraid to see Kylo again.  
  
Which is was.  
  
He sets his jaw and squares his shoulders, "I'll go today."  
  
She smiles, "Great. Here, you can give him this." She pulls a scrap of paper out of her pocket and presses into his hand.  
  
"What is this?" He narrows his eyes at the slip and opens the folded paper to find the name Phasma, followed by a series of numbers, "This is your phone number." He tells her as if she may have given him the wrong piece of paper.  
  
Phasma gets up out of the seat, downs whatever is left of her coffee and stretches, "I know."  
  
"Why are you giving Kylo your phone number? Are you trying to make me jealous?" He adds as a joke but the tone his hangover has left him with is all too serious.  
  
Carol looks at him with that horribly understanding look that he can't stand, "Why would me giving Kylo my phone number make you jealous Bren?"  
  
"It wouldn't. It's a joke Phas. I can joke." He stares down at the paper so he doesn't have to look at the expression he knows she must be wearing now.  
  
"It's for Kylo to give to Boomer."  
  
"Wait." Hux stands up, "You actually liked one of those greasers?"

 

“He's a sweetheart” She shrugs and leaves before he can demand to know what the hell happened after he and Kylo left last night.

 

He is never drinking again, or going out again, or letting Phasma talk him into doing anything ever ever again.

 

Hux rolls over in bed, forcing his head under his pillow, maybe he'll feel up to facing Kylo in a few hours…

 

-

 

Hux doesn't feel all that more equipped for this when he finally drags himself out of his apartment, his hair perfect and brushed back, his clothes wrinkle free, his belt buckle shines as do his shoes.

 

He takes the bus across the city and walks the rest of the way to (Falcon) mechanical.

 

Trying to ignore how his entire body is both way way too hot and also ice cold he walks through the open bay door. His car is in the lot again, in this part of town, in a garage this grungy he's surprised that his isn't the nicest car waiting. In fact there are some beautiful sports cars lined up beside his, that would turn his father green with envy.

 

The radio is playing fuzzy rock music but the garage seems empty.

 

There's no one in the office this time to another laughter about whatever nickname Kylo has put on this work order.

 

It's not until the radio has a lull as it switches songs that he hears it. Hux turns down the radio to listen. It sounds like… Italian?

 

(I did it for you )

 

“You destroyed his car!”

 

Hux pauses as Kylo’s deep voice harshly snaps out. He can hear something crash to the ground.

 

(Calm down kid, he didn't mean any harm.) Another voice joins in, the man's accent is atrocious really. Hux can't help but imagine the face of his Italian tutor Ms. Giovanni if she heard him enunciate like that.

 

(I thought it was just some skirt.)

 

“Yeah well he's not some skirt. And he's going to hate me when he finds out what happened.” Kylo seems really concerned that Hux will be upset with him. It makes him worried for a lot of reasons most of which he swears are about the state of his car and his plan to rid himself of Kylo Ren.

 

(Maybe that would be for the best… after what happened before-)

 

“It's not like that!”

 

(Sure it's not. We have eyes kiddo, you look at him like he's the last lifejacket on a sinking ship)

 

(Like he will save you.)

 

“I don't…” the way Kylo falters does something to him, something flutters in his chest, sinks in his stomach. His body is shorting out. He's broken. He needs to get the hell out of this place.

 

Maybe he'd just tell his father his car was stolen, get a new one. No car was worth the storm inside him.

 

Hux took a step back and slammed right into a table spilling tools clattering to the floor. A cacophony that stopped the conversation in the other room dead.

 

Kylo and the two men from the office come out of a side room to locate the source of the noise.

 

Hux tries to pull himself together, turn to stone but Kylo is standing in front of him without a shirt on, his jeans slung low across his hips and good god look at his face Brendol.

 

“Hux?”

 

“I came to see about my car…”

 

“Your car…” he looks back at the other men a shadow across his face, Hux tries not to notice the tense lines of the man.

 

Hux stands up trying to hide inside his ramrod posture, his soft expensive sweater and the strict control of his hair. He's not sure it's working at all because the looks he's getting from the two men over Kylo’s shoulder look too much like the looks Phasma gives him.

 

Like they know what's going on, what's happening more than he does.

 

“There's a cut line and a cracked…” Kylo starts but shakes his head slowly at the no doubt confused look on Hux’s face as he tried to pull up the schematics of the car in his head and figure out what the hell might be cut and cracked, “I've ordered in a few parts to fix it.”

 

Ordered in… that sounds like it will take a while.

 

(I'll get cab fare from the till for him.)

 

(We can give him the loaner in the back until the car is fixed.)

 

They start chatting to each other in Italian, rapid fire but thickly accented, the pair are talking about speeding up the service, calling in some favours to get the parts quicker.

 

Kylo turns to look at him, “The cars out of commission. I can take you where you need to go.”

 

“Ben!”

 

Kylo turned to the pair and spit out a series of words in Italian he only knew where vulgarities but not the meanings because of the way his tutor had glared at her brother when he had said them around Hux.

 

“Let's get out of here.” Kylo sneers, throwing his leather jacket over and plain white shirt with grease stains and pulled a cigarette from a hidden pocket, “I need some fresh air.” He growled and with his hand on Hux’s shoulder blade he lead him back out of the garage.

 

A garage where the owner (whichever one that was) had offered to pay for a taxi or lend him a car.

 

Hux finds himself climbing onto Kylo’s motorcycle anyway, his arms wrapping around the man's waist in spite of himself.

 

Kylo drove off without asking where Hux needed to go. Which was just as well really because he didn't have an answer. He couldn't think of anywhere he needed to be that wasn't here pressed against this man’s back and it's frightening and sickening. His fingers dig into Kylo’s bare skin as they lean into a turn, his hands resting on the skin of his hips, he's unbareably warm and he finds himself digging his short nails into the man's skin for no other reason than that he wants to.

 

Wants to see the man marked.

 

Hux doesn't remember very much about last night but he remembers drunkenly thinking that he's safer anywhere this man isn't. His hungover mind can't help but agree when Kylo takes a hand off of a handle to brush his fingers against the back of his hand.

 

This man was as dangerous as the motorcycle and dark eyes suggested. A soft private smile flits across Hux's face at the thought of how outraged his father would be to find him riding around with what was possibly the leader of a motorcycle gang.

 

They had agreed to let him go away for College rather begrudgingly and their thoughts of their son being corrupted by the college town had been reinforced when he had brought Phasma home for thanksgiving last year and he finds a special joy in imagining their absolute embarrassment and outrage at the idea of his relationship with Kylo.

 

Was relationship the right word? Surely. They weren't friends and they weren't anything more than that. Hux stares at the stretch of fabric across Kylo’s shoulders and thinks too hard about what they are to each other.

 

They should be nothing.

 

But the press of his fingers tells him that that isn't true at all.


	6. Dangerous

He doesn't even think about where he's going, the fact that Hux had just wrapped around him, hands hard and hot on his skin, nails biting into him again he's on autopilot.

 

It's not until he's pulled into the parking lot that he realises where he's gone.

 

“Batting cages?” Hux asks his voice a strange mix of soft and forcibly disinterested as he pulls away from Kylo, his hands instantly missed from their place on his hips.

 

Kylo is a firm believer that, that is where Hux’s hands belong. Clamped around his hips. It brings to mind fantasies of the red head underneath him, a wreck, a beautiful wreck and he's sure that he's blushing because his face feels unnaturally warm when he looks back at Hux.

 

“Sorry, autopilot.”

 

“You come here a lot then?”

 

“Yeah,” Kylo leans over his bike and pulls at a compartment to reveal his baseball bat. There's a bloodstain on the wood and he hopes Hux doesn't notice, “Did you… do you want to hit a few?” Kylo asks hating himself for stumbling over his words.

 

“I've never played before.” 

 

“Never played before? You've _never_ played baseball before? Not even at school?”

 

Hux shakes his head and is dislodges some of that beautiful red hair, “I went to a private school, they taught me the Viennese waltz and polo.”

 

Kylo tries to bite back a smile at the wonderful mental images that brings forth.

 

“Come on Red,” he tells him starting towards the building, “I'll teach you how to bat and maybe later you can teach me something.”

 

He knows he shouldn't paint those words with a deeper tone. Hux had told him as plainly as possible that he wasn't interested in him just last night.

 

But also last night the man had been clinging to him and batting gorgeous red gold eyelashes at him.

 

He looks over his shoulder to see if Hux is following him and let's out a breath when he is.

 

“Manners.”

 

“What?”

 

“That's what I'll teach you. Some manners.” Hux shouldn't look dangerous, he's tall but too slight to do anything with his height, he's dressed like a librarian, a complete Poindexter in that sweater and slacks, but God the danger just rolls off him, the heavy look in his eyes and the cruel curve of his mouth.

 

It knocks the breath out of him, Kylo is one hundred percent sure that at this moment he would let Hux rip him apart and thank him for it.

 

He isn't sure that he can get his mouth to work properly so instead he answers him by opening the door for him and with a sweep of his arm offers the open door to the redhead. 

 

Hux rolls his eyes and walks through the door only to stop short.

 

“Do I know you?” Hux asks confused and Kylo smiles closing the door behind them. 

 

Frankie is sitting behind the front desk reading a dime novel. He looks up and raises an eyebrow at the pair of them, “Coppertop.”

 

Hux makes a growling noise in the back of his throat that pulls a heat out of Kylo that is entirely inappropriate.

 

“Hux.”

 

“Frankie.”

 

“Kylo, now that we're all introduced can we get a cage?”

 

Frank leans against the counter and beckons him closer. Hux leans against the door while still somehow maintaining his impeccable posture.

 

“Yeah?” He leans down on the counter so there faces are close, his own voice low, “What's the matter?”

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“I'm teaching red how to bat. Can you believe he's never-”

 

“You know that's not what I mean Ben.”

 

“Don't call me that.” He hisses, “You're not my father.”

 

“Kylo,” he tries again voice soft and low, a whisper between them, “He said he wasn't interested.”

 

“I don't know what your talking about. We are just being friends. You know being friendly, friends. We are just friends.” he doesn't like the way his stomach twists tight around the words and hopes to god that Frankie doesn't notice just how much his entire being seems to rally against the  _ just _ .

 

“He doesn't look at you like your friends.”

 

He knows the flutter in his chest is exactly what Frankie is trying to warn him against and he tries to tamp it down and cover it with something smug and carefree.

 

“Oh? How does he look at me then?”

 

“Like you're dangerous.” 

 

The fluttering in him dies. His posture sags against the counter. That wasn't what he wanted to hear. He didn't want to learn that all of Hux’s bravado and the fact that he seemed utterly unmoved by the fact that Kylo was in a motorcycle gang was all just an act.

 

“Like you'll be the death of him,” Frankie continues, “but he's still here anyway.” The older man drops a keyring onto the counter, “Don't do anything that will get me fired.” He tells him resigned and goes back to his novel without waiting for a response.

 

Kylo leans over the counter and grabs a bucket of balls and leads Hux out to the cages. Hux is walking close but he can't get Frankie's observations out of his head.

 

Sneaking side glances at Red as they walk towards the furthest cage he watches with more focus than he really should at how Hux wrings his hands, how his eyes dart around like he's going to get caught doing something he isn't supposed to be doing. The slight flush high on his cheeks, across the freckled bridge of his nose makes him desperate to know what the man is thinking.

 

His eyes skim over the bitten pink of his lips before he forces them away.

 

_Dangerous_.

 

Kylo isn't the dangerous one here it's Hux. Kylo has moved towns and changed his name, changed his life, dropped out of school, hobbled here from a fucking hospital bed but with a look from Hux and he knows deep in his very soul that he would throw away all the painful lessons he had learned last time he had fallen for a pair of eyes so cutting and a mouth so so sweet looking.

 

“Having trouble?” There's an amused lilt to Hux’s voice as he reaches over Kylo’s arm and takes the keys and the lock gently from his hands.

 

Yes. If one of them is a danger to the other it is Hux because he would so so willingly lay himself at the altar of this man he hardly knows. He would give everything he worked so hard to regain and risk the many lectures of his family and the condemnation of society and just, just, just for a moment, just for a painfully perfect moment.

 

“Kylo? Are you alright?” Hux asks voice nervous and soft.

 

He runs a hand through his hair and tries not to notice the drag of Hux’s eyes across the action.

 

Friends. That's what they were supposed to be. That's what they were going to be. That's all that Hux would allow, so that was all they would be.

 

“Of course I am. Get in there Poindexter I'll show you the basics.”

 

There's a flicker of a smile on Hux’s face as he steps into the cage. They are made for a single person at a time but he steps in behind him and leans against the chain link. He hands him the bat and watches as Hux’s pale, long hands run over the bat, caressing it carefully, getting a hypothetical feel for it.

 

Kylo’s throat is thick, his mouth dry, and he pants tighten a fraction. He was beautiful. He really was.

 

“It's like this, correct?” Hux gets into an almost correct position, most likely dragging out a half see baseball game from his memory.

 

“Almost.” He sets down the bucket of balls and steps up to Hux, his body is radiating heat, pulsing like the sun and he recalls a story about wax wings and understands it so much better now than he ever had before. His hands rest heavy and giant on Hux’s waist, stepped close behind him, hands on his waist, breath on the man's neck. He doesn't smell like flowers or fresh grass, or any of the other beautiful poetic things his mind had been supplying him with. 

 

No he smells heady, heavy like earth with hints of cigarettes and coffee. It goes straight to his already swimming head.

 

“More like this.” He twists the man's hips slightly noticing that the stiffness, the fear that had made the man into a statute at the first glance of his touch has all but melted away, leaving him malleable.

 

“Like this.” Hux whispers shifting hips out of position and then settling back into the loose cradle of Kylo’s hands. God they span so so much of Hux, how had he not noticed last night.

 

Kylo let's out a pleased hum of noise and watches the exposed flesh goosebump.

 

“What else?” Hux’s voice had deepened and he honestly can't remember what he's doing, what he's supposed to be doing, mind blanked out at the tone, “Kylo?”

 

_Fuck_.

 

His name in that deep tone is what heaven sounds like.

 

His fingers curl, digging into Hux’s hips, the light fabric of his clothing the only thing separating them.

 

“Ren.” His voice is a sudden blast of ice water, cold and hard and he steps back from him quickly. 

 

“Right. Sorry.” He focuses on the worn material of his shoes before he moves quickly around the cage, loads the baseballs into the beaten up machine and sets a slow pace.

 

He watches Hux under the guise of correcting his posture, light grazing touches, it's too dangerous to let his hands linger.

 

Hux focuses with his entire being on his posture, Kylo can almost see him running through checklists in his mind as he gets ready to swing.

 

_ Clang _

 

A soft curse before resetting.

 

_ Clang _

 

“Damn it.” He hisses.

 

“Not used to being bad at something?” It's hard to keep the amusement out of his voice.

 

“That's not…” Hux let's the bat swing down to rest against an Oxford, “You seem to have a lot of preconceived notions about me Ren.”

 

“I call em like I see them.”

 

“And what  _ exactly _ do you think you see?”

 

Hux is baiting him, the sun filtering in from somewhere just to light up the flutter of those red gold lashes.

 

It'd be wholly inappropriate to tell him what he saw, a tall lanky gorgeous man holding that bat against his shoe like a great sword, unflinching as a baseball flew past him and clanged into the chain link.

 

He takes too long and looks too hard because Hux flushes and looks away from him, settling back into a too stiff but otherwise perfect posture.

 

“ Just show me what I'm doing wrong.” He grumbles, “You are a terrible teacher.”

 

“Good thing I dropped out then.” Kylo rubs the back of his neck nervously and moves forward to shift Hux’s posture but Hux doesn't mold like clay this time,“What?”

 

“Dropped out of where?”

 

Kylo’s eyes focus on the stiff collar of the man's shirt, a crisp line of snow white against the light pink freckling of a soft neck, “When I lived with my mother I was going to Organa University. For a while.”

 

Hux’s eyes widen at the mention of the school. The private college was prestigious and he makes a note to never ever, _ever_ , let Hux know who his mother actually is, or what his real name is, “What happened?”

 

His inherited hot head and sexual deviance, that's what happened. He pulls his gaze up to Hux’s pretty pretty eyes and something strikes him right through the heart that he is watching him carefully, interested.

 

However in denial Hux was about his preferences he had already been burnt, and burnt badly by a fair haired beautiful man with doubt in his heart. 

 

He found himself willing to make the same mistakes for Hux, destroy himself all over again, lay himself at the man's mercy.

 

But he couldn't quite get the story to form in his mouth.

 

He shakes his head like it's nothing and reaches out to mould Hux again, “Like you said, I'm a terrible teacher.” He tells him just quiet enough for Hux to understand that whatever secrets had brought him to this town where to remain secrets.

 

For now.

 

A baseball shot out of the machine and he watched as Hux focused not on the ball, not on the timing, not on his grip but flitting between the quickly moving ball and Kylo’s face.

 

He swings a fraction too late and manages to clip the side of the ball sending it careening right at Kylo.

 

“Oh shit!” Hux yelps and Kylo barely manages to dodge, dropping to the floor, “Kylo!” Hux drops the bat and is on the ground in a second beside him, rolling him carefully over.

 

The worry in Hux’s eyes is painfully beautiful. He finds himself reaching up to rest a hand on Hux’s flushed cheek, the pads of his fingers pressing in and digging behind his delicate jawline. He's pulling him slowly down, slowly closer, watches as Hux wets his pretty pink lips, “Oh Dolly, you do care.” His voice is smouldering the best he can manage but the use of _Dolly_ rips across Hux, his eyes hardening.

 

He pushes Kylo’s hand away and pushes up and away. Into the center of the batting cage.

 

The telltale  _ thunk _ of the machine loading another ball to launch sends Kylo into action. He pushes up off the floor and jumps quickly to Hux and wrapping his arms around the man's slim, slight middle pulls him out of the danger zone, slamming his own back into the chain link.

 

“Christ on a bike, Hux, watch it.” Kylo’s head drops to Hux’s shoulder, his arms wrapped tight around his torso. Hux’s hands wrap slowly around Kylo’s wrists but they don't pry them away. They just lean there, Hux leaning into him, his breath heavy, and his fingers trembling on Kylo’s wrists.

 

“I'm too hungover for this shit.” he squeezes Kylo’s wrists before pushing him away, a tender, pulling, hopeful, 'go signal', followed immediately by a refusal.

 

Hux leans heavily against the chain link next to him, his breath a little uneven, heavy and Kylo can't think of anything to say to him, to say to that.

 

He watches him out of the corner of his eyes and the man looks so put together and so undone all at once and he doesn't know how he does it.

 

He wants to say something but,  _ I'd destroy myself and the whole world if you wanted me to, if you would just kiss me, if you would love me,  _ doesn't seem like a smart choice so he says nothing at all.

 

“Can you take me to a friends, I need to get notes.”

 

“Yes.” Kylo watches the machine shoot out its last ball and pushes away from the fence. The  _ anywhere _ is implied in the look that Hux shies away from.


End file.
